#take THAT windhelm guards!!

[tiredela]

doing the pickpocketing daily while being bad at pickpocketing:

[umbracirrus]

My cross stitch project of the symbols representing each hold in Skyrim, based upon the guard shields in the vanilla game, is complete!

I've been working on this on and off since August last year, and after almost eleven months I've reached a point that I'm happy with. My original plans were to give each section a background colour too, but I'm leaving that for now so that I can move on to other projects to stitch.

The finished product is 30x30cm (so approximately 12x12 inches), with each symbol taking up a 10x10cm square.

More details, including my original digital pattern and materials used (because I actually kept track of that this time unlike with my Hermaeus Mora cross stitch).

So, first things first, here is my original pattern! I used images of the guard shields for each hold, and translated the patterns into pixel art. The braiding on ones such as Whiterun and Winterhold were really fun to work on, and attempting to keep the details in the Falkreath antlers and in the Pale's pattern were quite difficult! Eastmarch in particular gave itself well to being translated into pixel art of this size, whereas Hjaalmarch... That was definitely the hardest.

Some of my finished stitches aren't quite aligned, but that's mostly because I miscounted a square or two when actually going to stitch on my fabric.

The materials used were the following:

14 count aida cloth, approximately 38x38cm (about 15x15in) (I had a huge piece of Aida which was about 200x200cm(!) that I trimmed it from)

Stranded embroidery floss of the following DMC colours:

310 (black) - Outlines, borders, details 158 (dark blue) - Falkreath 334 (light blue) - Eastmarch/Windhelm 413 (grey) - The Pale/Dawnstar 647 (very pale green) - Winterhold 444 (yellow) - Whiterun 333 (purple) - The Rift/Riften 501 (dark green) - The Reach/Markarth 163 (green) - Hjaalmarch/Morthal 326 (red) - Haafingar/Solitude

I changed needles many times throughout the process (I'm very prone to losing needles, it seems!), but I typically found that embroidery needles with a decently large eye (and a needle threader!) worked well for me. They weren't too sharp either, so didn't have many finger pricking incidents!

It's worth noting that I used 6 strand embroidery thread, though only used two strands at a time when stitching. Where I could, I tried to use thread cut to no longer than half a metre, because I quickly learned that it was prone to tangling after that point. The top of the stitch looks neat, but behind is absolutely not!!

[nerevar-quote-and-star]

This crackship was supposed to be FUNNY but then it got really serious instead?

At least it's sweet. Or at least @elder-dragon-reposes thinks so!

Yo @incorrectskyrimquotes do you want some Leara/Ralof romance/pining?

ao3 | masterlist

She's curled in the corner of the wagon when he first notices her. Dark red hair falls in a curtain over her face, but Ralof thinks he sees the tip of a leaflet ear poking between the fallen strands. An elf, then. He doesn't remember seeing her during the ambush and the skirmish that followed. He wonders how she got there. He wonders why. Was she at the border?

When she wakes, it's signaled by strained shoulders and a near-visible shrinking in on herself. Then Ralof is met with the most startling blue eyes he's ever seen, bright and cold and thick with ice. They sweep his face, then turn to the other occupants of their carriage. At the moment, Ralof swears those eyes hesitate and widen when the elf woman spots Jarl Ulfric, but later, he isn't sure.

"Hey, you. You're finally awake. You were trying to cross the border, right? Walked right into that Imperial ambush, same as us, and that thief over there."

She stares at him again and is quiet.

She is quiet when the Imperials corral them from the carriages to hear General Tullius's damning talk-down to Jarl Ulfric.

Then, they're in line for the chopping block. Hadvar, damn traitor that he is, is standing there prim as a princess with his quill and parchment, ready to take down the names of the convicted.

Ralof wants to curse him. He cannot.

Then the elf woman is in front of Hadvar..

"Who . . . are you?" "Leara Ormand. I, I'm from Daggerfall." "I'm sorry, miss. We'll make sure your remains are returned to High Rock."

She hangs her head.

This was Imperial justice, Ralof thought. The innocent were condemned just as easily as those who fought for others' freedom. Anything that was inconvenient for the Empire must go.

They execute Snorri first, Talos guard him. Then they call the elf woman, Leara, forward. Her head no longer hangs. She walks forward with the same cool face and straight spine he's seen in other high elves.

Thunder rumbles, not for the first time since this circus began.

She kneels at the block.

All Oblivion breaks loose.

Smoke and screams resonate through the air as fire splits the skies. Visibility is lost. Ralof stumbles to the ground.

Amid the screaming, he hears a word echoing above the den and so penetrating that it chilled his soul.

Dragon.

He stumbles over something—someone. The woman, Leara.

Her hand snatches at his arm, shockingly cold amid the blistering heat.

They drag each other to the tower, making it just before Jarl Ulfric and the others close and bar the door. He turns to ask Jarl Ulfric—Could the legends be true?—and then she is gone like a dart up the stairs.

Ralof doesn't see Leara again until he stumbles into the Keep. She's on the floor, propped against the wall with her face flushed and her hands encrusted in frost. In her hands, she's clutching the hilt of a katana, but where she got it, Ralof doesn't know. Her eyes are closed, and she looks desperately like she's trying to catch her breath. But Ralof knows that soon this room will be swarming with Imperials fleeing the firestorm outside. They needed to go.

Their trip through the keep and its cave network is a blur of exhaustion and bloodshed. Her hands leave a trail of black frosted blood pools in their wake. The katana sings like hissing ice in her hands when they face the Torturer and sleeps just as easily when they agree to sneak past the bear.

He takes Leara to Gerdur. He needs to return to Windhelm as soon as possible, but it is clear as sunlight that Leara has been caught in a bad spot. When Gerdur hears about their escape from Helgen, she is only too willing to help out Ralof's new "friend."

Ralof waves Leara goodbye the morning after they stumble into Gerdur's yard. She is sitting on the porch, her katana beside her, but her face is clean from the ash of their near-death.

"Be well, Ralof!"

She says in farewell.

Ralof grins at her, not quite full, and leaves. And his mind wanders down other paths, away from his harried flight with Leara Ormand.

But he thinks of her again when he's faced with the white-blue ice of the White River biting at the ancient stones of Windhelm. When he returns to the field, he halfway remembers the song of her katana in the whistling of the wind through the pines.

But it is the dragon attack on Whiterun that eventually brings her back to the forefront of his mind. The attack is months after Helgen, but not long enough for the people of Skyrim to forget that a dragon leveled an entire village and stirred the embers of the Civil War into a full blaze with Ulfric Stormcloak's escape from the Imperials. The fighting has just picked up again after the winter lull when the news of the attack spreads like wild . . . dragon fire.

And with that news comes the murmur of Dragonborn. The Greybeards called her.

"Her?" "Some pointy ear. Not a Nord."

It is only when someone mentions that the Dragonborn carries a katana that Ralof knows that she and Leara are the same. It makes for a good story around the campfire when Ralof tells how he and the Dragonborn escaped that first dragon attack. Most don't believe him. Some do.

Then there are those who scoff at the idea of an elf woman being the Nords' hero. It's not long before Ralof finds himself in front of Commander Gonnar for brawling over it.

Commander Gonnar is . . . not impressed.

"Do you think we're out here to brawl like barflies?" "No sir." "No, because we have a job to do, leiutenant, and you can't perform your job when you're out there rolling in the dirt because someone insulted an elf to your face." "She's the Dragonborn, sir." "Well, then, she doesn't need you taking up for her, does she?" "Yes, sir."

Commander Gonnar sends him back to Windhelm soon after that. Less trouble in the camp.

Even in Windhelm, support for the Dragonborn is mixed, especially when Ralof hears about her plans to hold a peace talk at High Hrothgar. He volunteers for Ulfric Stormcloak's guard. The Jarl, at least, doesn't seem to care about What the Dragonborn is, so long as she takes care of Skyrim. That's fair enough, all things considered.

At High Hrothgar, Leara is happy to see him. Ralof is surprised when she catches his hand up in hers, a grin curving her white gold face. She seems happy . . . for someone who then proceeds to manipulate an entire table to agree to her terms while holding everyone else at their starting positions.

Yes, Leara is perfectly fine. Or so Ralof convinces himself, until he finds her in an alcove, sometime after dinner, with her katana in her hands and her face too pale. Her breathing is shallow and she's not seeing.

Ralof is crouched beside her in a moment.

"Leara—" "Elenwen. Elenwen."

Her skin is clammy. Oh.

Ralof holds Leara's hand through the panic attack beating on her. The best he can do is talk to her and rub her shoulder. Eventually, he manages to pry the katana from her death grip. Her hands soon fist in his hauberk. She falls asleep not long after that.

She is apologetic but still thankful afterward. For the first time, Ralof sees the layer of ice in her eyes give way to glimpses of spring waters.

Ralof might not know what happened to Leara, but he knows being a hero hasn't suddenly made her invincible. If anything, it's exacerbated a deeper problem. Problems he doesn't dare to tease out when General Stone-Fist sits down to talk about the Dragonborn as the Stormcloaks make their descent from the Throat of the World.

Months pass before he sees her again, and then it's on the wings of her victory over the World-Eater. She sweeps into WIndhelm and soon Ralof finds himself at the bar with her at Candlehearth Hall. He looks forward to speaking to her again but is nonetheless surprised by her turn in conversation.

"What do you know about the Butcher murders?" "Well . . ."

Ralof can't say he's kept up with the whole drawn-out tragedy, but Leara seems intent on investigating, and he commits to helping her—as much as his duties allow, that is. Later, when she brings the amulet to him with whispered descriptions of a room bathed in sinew and blood, he suggests the court wizard. Ulfric trusts the man, and from what Ralof has heard, Wuunferth seems pretty knowledgeable.

Directing Leara to speak to Wuunferth does not prevent her from being stabbed by the Butcher days later. She takes Calivto Corrium out with her own bloodied ice before collapsing in a shivering heap. She is taken to her room at Candlehearth before Ralof can check in on her. Before he can see that she's okay.

Leara will be okay. Ralof will not.

When Ralof accompanies the guards to clear out the House of Curiosities, he finds the Dibella statue modeled in Leara's likeness: White gold, small, naked, and frigid.

Rage bursts in his chest. He throws it into the wall. On impact, it shatters in a rain of pottery shards, painted and false.

From there, Ralof hurries to Candlehearth. There, he finds Leara propped in a chair; when he enters, she's half-heartedly nibbling an apple tart but, at the sight of him, sets it aside.

"Ralof! Would you like some pastry?"

Her smile is bright, if strained by the lingering pain. She half-raises the plate toward him.

Ralof takes it from her, and setting it on the table, kneels beside her chair. As he does so, he takes the cold hand in his, clasping it between both palms. He bows over her hand in his, his forearms braced against the chair arms.

"Ralof? Are you okay? What's happened?"

But Ralof can't speak. How can he? How can he speak into existence the truth his spirit has been seeking this whole time? He must tell her. He's not a coward, but a brave son of Skyrim! But the words stick in Ralof's throat, even when Leara's other hand comes to card through his hair.

When he leaves, the words are still lodged in his throat. The whole time he doesn't speak, Leara simply strokes his hair, and when he leaves, she offers another smile. Confused, certainly, but soft. Kind.

Ralof is tempted to ask Generals Stone-Fist or Thrice-Pierced to deploy him to a camp in Hjaalmarch or the Reach, but every time, he's driven to stay. All the while, Leara is recovering. Soon, she's back on her feet, and when she mentions leaving Windhelm, Ralof feels as if he'll be sick.

What will she do once she's out there, alone?

She's capable, he reminds himself. Yes, she defeated the World Eater. But then she was nearly murdered by a serial killer. All it took was one mistake. One. And Leara would be, Leara . . .

Leara would be dead.

t's that thought that drives him to Candlehearth again. He's hurrying down the hall toward Leara's room before he realizes Elda is calling him.

"She's gone." "What?" "The Dragonborn, she checked out this morning."

Bile churns in Ralof's gut. She's gone.

Again the Palace of the Kings, Ralof seeks the training yard. Hack. Slash. Stab. Leara left. Slash. Hack. Stab. Leara was alone. Slash. Swipe. Turn. Leara might not come back. Stab. Hack. What if she . . .

No. He was being dramatic.

Ralof is not given long to wallow. General Stone-Fist promotes him to captain and deploys him to the Reach, clear across Skyrim. In the Reach, there's more to worry about than the abstract until proven idea of Leara's present safety. Ralof's, for one thing, and the state of the Stormcloaks campaign in the region, for the greater.

He is in the Reach a month before reports filter out of Markarth about heightened Forsworn activity in the city. The Forsworn were already a pain in the rear out in the hills and crags. Ralof did not look forward to weeding out a potential secondary force when the Stormcloaks marched on Markarth.

Then, a report comes saying there's been a breakout from Cidhna Mine. And that Madanach is alive. Ralof has a bad feeling about this. He's pretty sure Jarl Ulfric will have plenty to say about the situation.

Whatever Ulfric would say is driven from Ralof's mind when a thin figure stumbles into camp. Her hair is wild, her eyes are wild, and in her hands is that same katana.

Ralof is running to Leara to catch her in his arms before her knees even threaten to buckle.

"It's my fault." "Shhh." "Ralof, Ralof, Markarth . . ." "We'll take care of it. Don't worry, Leara."

Soon, she's asleep in the medical tent. Ralof is sitting beside her when Commander Kottir pokes his head in.

"So, that's the one stirring up the fuss in camp." "The Dragonborn, Commander." "That's what I hear."

Commander Kottir nods, grim.

"See that she doesn't die on our hands. We can't afford the talk."

Jaw clenched, Ralof just nods. Leara's hand is in his. Over the cot, he catches the commander's eye. Kottir's eyes linger on the joined hands before slipping from the tent.

When Leara wakes, Ralof learns all the dark details of Leara's ill-fated investigation iin Markarth that turned into her incarceration and eventual jailbreak with the King in Rags and his court.

"I had no idea what I was getting into. It was like a completely different playing field from what I'm used to."

Ralof can't offer much advice, except that when the Stormcloaks take over Markarth, they'd weed out the Forsworn support. Leara's face is drawn, but she squeezes his hand.

When she leaves, she says she's heading for Solitude. Ralof wishes her well, but a feeling of foreboding seeps into his bones. She doesn't say why she's going to Solitude, but there's a particular gleam in her eye that piques him in a certain way.

Without Leara in camp, Ralof's focus goes back to the war. General Stone-Fist comes out west, and Ralof is asked to accompany him to Hjaalmarch. They have their eyes on Fort Snowhawk, but before they get there, an anonymous tip comes in that the Dragonborn is being held by the Thalmor at Northwatch Keep.

When he reads the note, Galmar's face is hard. Ralof is cold.

"We can't leave her there, General." "We might have no choice."

But Ralof can't accept that. He'll go after her by himself. His knapsack is packed and his sword is sharpened when he heads for the edge of camp. Galmar stops him.

"You're not going to Northwatch alone." "Respectfully, General, but I am. I can't just leave Leara with the Thalmor when I can do something about it." "No, Captain, you're not going alone." "But sir—" "We'll be leading a raid on the fortress."

The Stormcloak attack on Northwatch is swift and pointed. The Thalmor wizards are difficult, but they're no contest when met in the tight melee range of the halls. General Stone-Fist's battlecry rings off the stonework, rallying the rebels. This is not like their plans for Snowhawk. They weren't trying to hold the fort. Raid, disrupt, and devastate, however? Doable.

Throughout the raid, Ralof felt at turns cold and furious. Leara is here somewhere, he thinks as he leads a group down into the dungeons.

The scent of blood and bile burns his nose. Ralof pushes forward until, rounding a corner, he runs headlong into a tall golden-haired Altmer. Lightning sizzles on her fingers, burning the air and setting Ralof's teeth on edge even as he thrusts his sword deep into her stomach.

Blood curdles out of her mouth as Ralof pushes passed her into the cell beyond. There.

Her head lulled to the side and eyes heavy, Leara is strapped to the wrack, her thin arms stretched skeletal over her head. In her mouth is a heavy gag, tied tight to prevent her from using the Thu'um. Ralof is at her side in an instant, making quick work of the bindings. He pulls the gag from her mouth, tossing it to the side. Behind him, one of the battlemaidens drops to her knees, checking Leara's throat and wrists.

"Captain." "How is she, Tilda?" "Sir, I don't think—"

But Ralof has Leara in his arms, her head falling against his shoulder. She's not heavy at all. They were starving her. Feeding meant removing the gag, risking the Voice. She wasn't this light in the Reach. They starved her.

He hugs her tighter to his chest, and hurries from the keep, Tilda and another soldier on his heels.

That night, after setting fire to the keep, Galmar meets him in the field healer's tent. It's even less equipped than what they have at one of their permanent campsites, and Ralof fears it won't be enough.

Leara is incredibly small and broken under the blankets. New golden scars peak from under the collar of her waif-thin shirt, tracing the path of her veins. Sitting by her bedside, Ralof has held her hand since Tilda finished examing her, the battlemaiden's face grey. The chill in Leara's hand is different now. Unsettling. He can feel the weight of Galmar's eyes on him.

"Tilda told me." "Oh." "If she wakes, she may not be the same."

Galmar cut himself off, but Ralof didn't pay attention. His focus was centered on the slight rise and fall of Leara's chest as she breathed. Every breath was shallow, and none of them restful.

"Listen, Ralof. When the time comes, if you need to take some time and go back home for a few weeks, not a man amung us would begrudge you that."

His throat thick, Ralof only nods.

With Leara in the condition she was in, it was risky to move her, but staying meant her death. The Stormcloaks were caught in a delicate situation, especially considering that they were still in Imperial territory.

"I can give you two days."

Ralof heard Galmar say to Tilda. The battlemaiden nodded. She worked diligently with Leara, praying to Talos, Mara, and Kyne for healing while attempting to work her own arts. Ralof prayed too, though his prayers beseeched Akatosh second only to Talos. But he also prayed to Arkay, begging for the tenuous thread of Leara's life to be strengthened.

One day elapsed. The second one drew toward its close.

There was no change. Within the last hours, Ralof sat on his knees, her hand in his and clasped against his forehead as he leaned into her cot. Ralof's chest ached.

One of the soldiers appeared at the tent flap, but Ralof didn't look up.

"Captain, General's ordered the camp to pack up and head out." "Thank you, Jorvar."

Then it was Tilda's hand on his shoulder.

"Come, Ralof. We must wrap her up and get her on a horse. We've given her as much rest as we can." "She's not strong enough." "Perhaps not, but we have to trust in the Divines that she may be."

His mouth in a line, Ralof simply nodded. Sighing, Tilda turned to finish packing the medical supplies they'd brought from the Haafingar camp.

A tear stung his eyes, followed by another. They weren't the first he'd shed over her, but the fear and despair were beginning to gnaw deeper into his spirit. With trembling lips, Ralof dotted a kiss on Leara's palm, then her knuckles, and the pads of each finger. At last, he drew the thin hand to lay flat on his heart.

Please.

Leara remains stable on the trip to the Haafingar camp, wrapped in blankets and nestled in the bottom of their one wagon. Tilda keeps vigil at her head. Beside the wagon, Ralof rides on horseback, his sword and Leara's katana sheathed at his side.

They make it to the camp, and Tilda is able to administer different medicines that she did not have before. Some color returns to Leara's face, but she still breathes shallowly. Soon, Tilda grows adamant that they must take her to Whiterun, to the Temple of Kynareth. Galmar, while seeing reason in some of Tilda's arguments, is quick to remind the battlemaiden that Whiterun is not their ally. The Stormcloaks cannot step foot in the city. Tilda insists that they can under certain terms.

In the midst of them, Ralof keeps praying that perhaps Leara would at least open her eyes. One last time. During these times, he often falls asleep, his head by her arm on the cot.

It is one of these times that Ralof fell asleep that he thought he woke up. Really, he was sure in the moment that he had, but afterward could never be totally sure. As he lay in half-sleep, he watched a man with golden skin and blue-fire eyes slip into the tent. As he approached, his feet made no noise.

The man's hand passed unfelt (and yet felt) over Ralof's head before landing on Leara's arm. As if entranced, Ralof watched the man remove Leara's hand from his grip and tuck it over her stomach.

"Oh, little one."

For the rest of his life, Ralof could never remember what happened afterward. One minute he was half watching the stranger pass the backs of his fingers over and over Leara's sallow cheek, and then the next, well. The next moment Ralof knew on waking was Leara's fingers carding through his hair. He stirred, and then stared.

From her pillow, Leara was smiling at him. It was a slight smile, still touched with pain, but it was alive because she was awake and she was here.

Ralof met the summer lake warmth of Leara's eyes. And he knew. He clasped her hand in his, and once more began to kiss it. Leara laughed, small and tired, but awake and alive. So very much alive!

He grinned at her.

"I love you." "I know."

Her voice was worn, tired, and fracturing, but so soft and relieved. Hopeful. He pressed a lingering kiss to the inside of Leara's wrist. Yes, he loved her very much, and he would tell her so every day for the rest of their lives.

fin

[spooky-donut-ghost-house]

Markarth has to be like the worst place in Skyrim to live in

Like yeah there's a Mafia, a guild of thieves and corrupt guards in Riften and racists and a serial killer in Windhelm and there's moronic jarls in Dawnstar and Winterhold

But in Markarth you have to worry about potentially getting killed in a Forsworn attack on the city because The Reach was overtaken by colonizers, you have dwemer automatons, falmer and their pets and a giant spider living in the abandoned dwemer city underneath the actual city, a third of the city's population are cannibals and are taking part in a cannibal cult who is stealing corpses from The Hall of The Dead, there's a fucking Mafia in the city that supports Ulfric, there's a fucking haunted house, there's a fucking Thalmor patrol in the goddamn Jarl's palace, the jarl and guards are corrupt and are being payed off by the Mafia, the jail is a fucking slave mine which mainly consists of the indigenous population of The Reach put in there by the local Mafia

[lensdeer]

No I can't fucking be normal about the Morrowind intro

After you start the game, Jiub says he "heard [the guards] say you've reached Morrowind", but in the cutscene Azura says they took you out of the Imperial City Prison "first by carriage and now by boat", so what the fuck sort of route did you take that the people driving the boat set sail from somewhere outside Morrowind and only "reached" it near Seyda Neen.

I'm extremely autistic about The Elder Scrolls lore, so I have obsessed about this issue for years: Jiub clearly meant you reached "Vvardenfell" the island within "Morrowind" the Province. I get it; from a marketing point of view, it makes sense to namedrop the name in the game's box right as you start playing, but bear with me here (why they didn't name the game "TES III: Vvardenfell" instead still escapes me; Daggerfall isn't named "High Rock" or "Hammerfell" anyways, so it doesn't have to be a province name! "TES II: Iliac Bay" would've been a significantly worse if more accurate name for that one anyways, but I digress).

With the beautiful amount of care Morrowind's team of writers put into even the most mundane details of the game's lore this detail has always struck me as weird, and since TES canon has an in-universe explanation for even the most minor gameplay mechanics like Oblivion not having levitation spells, I can't stop fucking thinking about it.

See, it's pretty easy to see that this is the optimal/fastest (and therefore most likely) route the guards used to move you from the Imperial City Prison to Seyda Neen:

Out of the Prison through the Imperial City itself, over Lake Rumare through the Talos Bridge, around the Red Ring Road and then the Blue Road, maybe stopping for the night in Cheydinhal, entering Morrowind through some frontier pass in the Velothi Mountains, traveling through the Stonefalls region for a bit, and finally boarding a ship on Old Ebonheart to take you to Seyda Neen.

In this case, you entered Morrowind WAY before even getting on the ship! It makes absolutely no sense that they would say you "reached Morrowind" if you traveled through this, the only sensible route.

So what the hell kind of route did they take you through?

If, for some reason, the guards didn't want you to set foot in Morrowind-The-Province until Seyda Neen and Seyda Neen only, they would've had to have taken you through a laughably inefficient route:

It starts the same as the previous route, but they would've had to split off the Blue Road before reaching Cheydinhal, crossed the significantly colder and more dangerous Jerall Mountains to enter Skyrim somewhere around Riften (rest stop?), wasted a bunch of time navigating through The Rift and Eastmarch, boarded a ship on Windhelm, navigated through icebergs in the Sea of Ghosts, and wasted a even more time navigating all the way through the Inner Sea to get to Seyda Neen (why not drop you off at Gnisis or somewhere else in north Vvardenfell at that point?).

If you were being taken to Morrowind with any degree of urgency it makes absolutely no sense to waste this much time and resources navigating through Skyrim's significantly less hospitable geography. And, even then, wouldn't the guards have said you "reached Morrowind" around the time the ship went into the Inner Sea anyways???

Thing is, that's literally the only other justifiable option. If they didn't want you to touch Morrowind OR Skyrim before getting dropped off at Seyda Neen, the only remaining option is the even more stupid Plan C:

Maybe they wanted to take you for the scenic route! The Nerevarine prophecy can get fulfilled fucking whenever, who cares:

Go down the Green Road through Bravil and board a ship in Leyawiin (maybe the Khajiit heard you're Azura(h)'s champion and let you through the Tenmar Jungle so you board it in Senchal instead?), and strap the FUCK in for the voyage of a lifetime through the Nepal Sea and sail the Padomaic Ocean aaaaaaaaall the fucking way around Black Marsh and mainland Morrowind, dodge a couple icebergs in the Sea of Ghosts, and navigate the Inner Sea to finally get to Seyda Neen (because fuck Tel Mora, Vivec and Ebonheart; we're determined here), like, at this point multiple years after leaving the Imperial City. Hope you packed enough provisions, because these guys are determined to not "reach Morrowind" until the Bitter Coast!

Alternatively: at this point, why didn't they just commit to the bit and just get some weirdo at the Arcane University to teleport you directly to Vvardenfell?

Condense multiple days of travel into a quick afternoon stroll through the Imperial City! Maybe the guards can do some shopping, watch a quick match in the Arena or chill for a bit in the Arboretum on their way back from dropping you off. Why not. Perfection.

Anyways. I like Morrowind, and I obsess over this topic every time I think about it. Hope I passed on my brainworms to y'all.

[wellthebardsdead]

Elder scrolls 6 really needs to take several pages out of baldurs gates book. For both writing, voice acting and more. But they should do what baldurs gate did and have more npcs within the cities. Like not even interactable ones but just ones to make it feel more alive.

Think about it, in acts 1 and 2 there’s not a lot of people around but it makes sense for the settings.

The Druids grove is a secluded sanctuary that’s struggling with housing the group of refugees living there.

The goblin camp is filled with goblins, and Waukeens rest is on fire when we arrive.

Really the only populated place is the Githyanki crèche but again it makes sense a gith creche would be full of Githyanki.

The whole of act 1 and 2 feels deliberately widespread but adequately populated given the circumstances. And then we get to act 3 and the city. And we are overwhelmed with the sheer population. Because it’s one of the major city hubs of the sword coast! It makes sense it’d be flooded.

But then we have Bethesda games, like skyrim.

Falkreath? Okay it’s a small settlement filled with mostly dead people, fine. Same with all of the small settlements like riverwood.

But solitude, whiterun and windhelm? Supposedly the biggest trading hubs/ports in all of skyrim? Why are they so empty. Why are all the cities empty?! Heck riften should be booming given its on the border to the empire.

Literally they could’ve included more nameless npcs like guards. It wouldn’t have been hard and it’d add more emersion to the games!

[thana-topsy]

Corimir

Full Name: Corimir ‘len Canaale Silvanir Lanaawe ‘ata Anduil Maldur Tirwen ‘cal Lloderion Race: Altmer Age: 36 Gender: Male Birthsign: The Serpent Place of Birth: Shimmerene Current Residence: Ivarstead

Corimir was a Thalmor soldier (rank: Corporal) sent to Skyrim to act as on-the-ground enforcement for the Talos ban. His main duties as an active soldier were to assist his assigned Justiciar in martial confrontations as well as in the capture and detainment of heretics. He was stationed outside of Markarth and saw very little "action" up until he was sent with a small team to take down a nearby gathering of alleged Talos worshipers.

Unfortunately, the gathering was not Talos worshipers, and instead a camp of Stormcloaks, with the now-infamous Dragonborn among them. All except Corimir were slain, and he was taken as a prisoner of war. Though, to the Dragonborn, he was more of a trophy, and a toy to be used.

Corimir was held captive for three months in Windhelm where he was tortured (for information he did not have access to) and used by the Dragonborn whenever he saw fit. His only solace was that these were, by definition, war crimes, and Corimir held out hope that his higher-ups would negotiate for his freedom, or send a rescuer eventually. But none came.

Finally, one day, a guard approached his cell. Though her face was hidden behind the metal helm, she spoke with an Altmeri accent and worked to spring him from the prison. With her help, Corimir finally escaped Windhelm and was able to leave the horrors of his time as a captive behind him... Physically, at least.

[There is a slight.... explanation that needs to happen in regards to Corimir's origin. He's fully my original character, but he's based on a character from another fanfic. The original character was an unnamed Thalmor soldier that was captured and sexually abused by Stormcloak soldiers. I felt compelled to "rescue" the character from the situation, and ended up writing an entire fic about it. The fic picks up at Corimir's rescue and doesn't go into the morbid details about his time as a prisoner, aside from the aftermath that comes with surviving that kind of assault and trauma. You can read the fic on my AO3, though please mind the tags. If you're sensitive to trauma-recovery, descriptions of panic attacks, ptsd, dissociation, or suicidal ideation, you might want to skip this one. It does have a happy ending though!]

"Hollow Men"

Rating: M (graphic depictions of violence, implied/referenced non-con) Categories: Gen, M/M Summary: In which a prisoner of war is rescued, though hardly saved, learning that the path of recovery is not well-trodden but a mess of brambles.

Vague story spoilers below the cut!

Once Corimir is given his freedom, the road to healing is long and frustrating. Even after his body begins to heal from the physical abuse, he realizes that his mind is often still trapped in the past. That, and returning to the safety of Thalmor is not nearly as comforting as he might have thought.

His only solace comes in the form of the upbeat, often irreverent, and incredibly mysterious companion who saved him, Elanwe, as well as the cheery Bosmer who took him in while they passed through Ivarstead, Gwilin. The two of them showed him kindness when he'd long lost the hope that any kindness still existed in the world.

After returning to the Thalmor Embassy, Corimir comes to realize that he's exchanged being a prisoner of war for being a prisoner within his own organization. His higher-ups see him as damaged beyond repair, a liability, but most importantly: they see him as possible propaganda.

Corimir finds himself longing to return to the only place he's felt safe since leaving home: Ivarstead. And, frustratingly, he finds himself unable to stop thinking about the kind Bosmer who shared his home with him.

With the help of Elanwe, Corimir manages to once more escape from his captors and begin a new life for himself, returning to Ivarstead and leaving the Thalmor behind him.

Though he will forever be haunted by the shadows of his past, Corimir slowly learns to trust in others once more, as well as find joy in the simple treasures life has to offer.

[deadlymousex01]

Skyrim men reacting to s/o being pregnant

Farkas, Nazier, Brynolf, Bailmund

Fair warning for Nazier and Brynolf it's written as if your in a relationship but nothing very serious as a nod to the fact you can't marry these men in game....still unhappy about that....the others are written as if you're married

Apologies if these are a bit long, wanna do it justice! Enjoy!! :)

Farkas

When Farkas returned from the job he was sent on he went straight into your shared home of Breezehome, where you greeted him with a big hug and kiss as well as a refreshing mug of ale. Setting the mug down for a moment to shed his heavy armor he didn't notice your nervous twitches as you waiting for him to get comfortable to share the news. As he collapsed in the chair with a groan he picks up the ale again.

"So did you do anything interesting while I was gone?" he'd ask. You shrugged clearing you throat trying to find the way to word it.

"Well I did a few odd jobs, helped the guards kill some vampires and uh...oh I uh...I learned something new about myself."

"Oh really? What's that?" He asks taking a big drink of the ale.

"I'm pregnant." The poor man chokes and coughs hard as ale flies out of his mouth and nose at the shock of your words. You're left sitting there speechless and wide eyed as the man you love is coughing and wiping his face trying to recover before he looked up at you with the same wide eyed expression.

"YOU'RE WHAT?!"

"Pregnant." The man stared at you like you had grown two heads, which in a way you slowly were. Farkas stared at you for so long you started to fidget thinking that he was unhappy with the news so you try to tell him more details.

"I found out after the vampire fight, I was more tired than I usually was and Aela commented that my scent was different. I realized it's been a little over a month since my last bleed so I went to the temple and the healers confirmed it...at this moment I'm about a 2 months." Farkas was stunned, he didn't even think that the night you two shared before he left could of resulted in a child, he honestly never really thought about having kids. Slowly he slid out of the chair and stood on his knees next to your's lightly placing his hand on your stomach.

"You're pregnant....Gods I never thought...I mean..." He couldn't find the words and he never cursed so much before now that he wasn't his brother who could tell you so easily how happy he was. Looking up at you he cups your face before pulling you down into a gentle kiss like you were made of glass, pulling away with a smile.

"Let's hope the poor pup doesn't get my ugly mug." With a laugh you kiss him back resting your forehead against his, knowing that even though it was unexpected the two of you were going to make this work together.

Nazier

Nazier was used to you vanishing for weeks or months at a time, your duties as Listener and Dragonborn kept you busy, which is why the casual relationship the two of you shared worked well for him. It allowed you both to fill the desires you both had as well as make it so the distance didn't hinder the work you both needed to do.

When you returned from your travels you looked pretty tired and beat up, which struck him as odd, as you could handle yourself with almost anything. Putting some hot stew into a bowl, grabbing some fresh bread and a mug of mead he went down to the living quarters where you had retreated to. Smelling the stew you turn and give him a smile as you start to remove your armor.

"Thought you might need this, you looked pretty beat up. Rough travels?" He asks setting the food down on the table and sitting down in one of the seats next to it.

"You could say that. Fought a dragon outside Windhelm, got hurt and ended up stuck at the temple for a few weeks before I was able to get back here." you explain setting down the last of your armor. You were thankful for the loose tunic you were wearing as it hit your slightly bulging belly, you wanted to break the news to him before he saw it.

"A few weeks at temple? You must of been hurt bad, are you alright?" He asked concerned, the Brotherhood just found it's Listener and he didn't think they'd survive without you. Sitting in the open chair you pull the bowl to you and take a bite sighing happily at the flavors. Nazier may be a murder but he's also a damn good cook. You finish your bite before looking up at him.

"I wasn't hurt to bad, they kept me because they found out I have....something else happening with me..."

"Something else? What else?" You sigh before putting the spoon back in the bowl deciding just to get it over with.

"When I got hurt it was in my shoulder and ribs and while the healers were taking care of me...they found out I'm pregnant..." You look him in the eyes and as your words sink in. You can see him stiffen and look down at your belly.

"They kept me longer to make sure there was no harm done to the baby and only when they were satisfied did they let me go...I...I came straight here to tell you, ran into some wolves just outside of town that's why I looked rough but I kept going because I needed to tell you." Nazier nodded slowly when you finished talking the weight of everything setting heavily on his shoulders. You were pregnant and while the two of you were not serious with each other he knew you weren't seeing anyone else, you wouldn't be telling him otherwise, so it had to be his.

"How... how far along are you?" He asked slowly. you set your hand on your stomach the fabric tightening showing your small bump.

"Three and a half months." Nazier nodded again before sighing and running a hand down his face before leaning his elbows on the table.

"I'll be honest; this isn't something I was counting on when we started our little meet ups. I'm a murder, I don't know how to raise kids and I've never been the most maternal of people however...." He looks you in the eye "I am here for you. If you want to take it to the orphanage after it's born I will support you, if you want to keep it I will do my best to help."

"I want to keep it." You say looking him dead in the eye as well so he knows how serious you are. He stares at you for a second before leaning back in the chair with a smile.

"Then I suppose our little family here is growing again."

Brynjolf

Brynjolf had had no time for you anymore. The two of you had shared beds many times before Mercer's betrayal and even did so again before that final battle. Now that you were the guild master you expected that to continue not to have him suddenly want nothing to do with you. Frustrated you spent less and less time around the Flaggon, spending more time on the road. It wasn't until you were in Solitude taking care of business did you realize it had been three months since your last bleed and your belly and breasts had gotten bigger. You knew what it meant and you knew who the father had to be, so you started the long trek back to Riften.

As you enter the city gates you adjust your cloak around your shoulders to cover your front. Heading into the grave yard you ope the secret entrance and head down. Climbing down that ladder you're greeted by Sapphire and Rune. Nodding to them you spot Brynjolf and take a steading breath before heading over to him.

"Brynjolf, we need to talk."

"Sorry lass, I've important things to do. We'll speak another time." He says and starts turning to walk away from you. It may have been your frustrations for how he's been treating you or your hormones acting up but you were not going to take that. Grabbing the belt that hold the pouches on the front of his armor you pull him around to face you leaving him stunned by your strength and the anger on your face.

"No! We are talking now!" You almost yell before dragging him towards the training area. All the thieves in the area made a clear path for you wanting nothing to do with your rage. Once in the room you yelled out to the others there and they quickly ran out like their lives depended on it. You dragged him over to the training chests and forced him to sit on one of them before leaning down and pointing your finger in his face.

"You are going to sit there and be quiet until I'm done talking and your not leaving here until I'm done or so help me I will shout you right through the wall behind you!" Brynjolf nods and sits more comfortably on the chest giving you his full attention. He had never seen you this angry, it was both sexy and terrifying. You stand up straight looking at him dead in the eyes.

"You have been ignoring me, dismissive of me, and rude to me. You constantly make excuses not to talk to me and I've had enough, I need to tell you something important and I need you to listen well; I'm pregnant." Brynjolf wasn't sure what he was expecting you to say but it wasn't that, the man sitting on the chest suddenly looked like his brain shut off so with a sigh you continue moving your cloak so he can see your slightly belly.

"I'm three and a half months, and before you ask yes it's yours. You're the only man I've been with so there's no chance it's anyone else. I'm not asking you to quit the guild and go straight I know you can't. I'm only telling you this because you deserve to know, and because I am keeping it. I've a home here in Riften, I got after getting the Jarl to make me a Thane, I plan on living here but if it's a problem I do have a home in Whiterun. I do plan to return to the Guild after the child is no longer a helpless babe, but until then I won't be here much."

You finish your speech and look at him as you rest your hand on top of your belly. It wasn't something you did often but when you did it was a comfort. Brynjolf to his credit did sit and not interrupt you once during your talk and only when you seemed did he start to speak.

"Well you're right about one thing lass, I can't go straight. I've been in the guild to long to give it all up, that being said; I won't let you do this alone." That last bit shocked you as he stood up and gently placed a hand over yours.

"This is certainly unexpected, but any thief will tell you that sometimes you have to improvise. I'm sorry for ignoring you and making you feel tossed aside. If you live here in Riften I will be here with you, I will be here for the child. Everyone here knows I'm with the guild so I'm not worried about blowing cover. This is a new adventure and I've never been one to back down from a challenge. Besides with skills like ours our child will be the greatest thief in all of Skyrim and the world!"

Balimund

You stand in front of the cooking pot feeling happy and content. Alduin had been defeated, the civil war was over and while there was still some dragons to deal with most decided to follow Parthanaax. Now you could take a breath and relax. After most of your travels were done you had returned to Riften and found Balimund, wearing a amulet of mara you had both agreed to wed. Balimund had captured your heart when you knew his; his kind heart in taking in Asbjorn from the orphanage and training him, to his gratitude when you brought him the fire salts.

The door opens as your husband enters hot and tired from a day of working the forge. He walks over and gives you a kiss before going to wash up. When he comes back you've got dinner on the table and you and Asbjorn are already starting to eat. As he sits down and starts eating you feel both nervous and excited at the same time before you take a breath to calm yourself before sharing the news. Before you get the chance he turns to look at you.

"This is incredible, you're an amazing cook dear! Much better than we are." His praise never failed to make you smile or love him even more. Asbjorn nodded in agreement.

"I agree, watching him try to cook fish was always a nightmare, missed so many bones and ruined the fish." Balimund nudged him with his elbow before taking another bite and then asking another question.

"By the way, did you go to the temple today to get healed from being sick?" You had been sick the last few days and decided to go to the temple to see if they could heal you as healing potions didn't seem to help. It was there you were told you were pregnant and the smile that had been on your face when you found out had never left.

"Yes I did and it turns out I'm not sick...I'm pregnant." Balimund coughed choking on air for a moment while Asbjorn gave you a big smile.

"That's incredible! Congratulations to the both of you!" Balimund managed to remember how to breathe before he stood up quickly and pulled you into a big hug, picking you up and spinning you aorund.

"Gods be praised! This is the best news I've ever heard!" Setting you down gently he cupped your face and gave you a deep passionate kiss before pulling away with a big smile.

"I thought I was the happiest man in the world when you agreed to marry me but you continue to make me even happier. I'll get started working on a cradle tomorrow as well as taking some more orders to bring in more gold. Asbjorn; I know you'll have no problem handling the forge for a while when the baby arrives."

"Of course, I'm happy to help and happy for the both of you." The both of you sat down and continued to eat dinner, when you were going to go to Sovrenguard to battle Alduin you weren't sure you would ever have this but now here you are, with your growing family, with a happy air and a excitement for the future.

[thequeenofthewinter]

Wife Worship Wednesday

It's not WIP Wednesday anymore. It's WWW. (Thank you @saltymaplesyrup for the name and consider yourself the first tag ;) ) It's soft. It's fluffy. I have melted into a puddle. Enjoy.

Tagging: @oblivions-dawn @dirty-bosmer @rainpebble3 @paraparadigm @mareenavee @skyrim-forever @blossom-adventures @frankensonnet @tallmatcha @gilgamish @snippetsrus @changelingsandothernonsense @rose-like-the-phoenix @archangelsunited @friend-of-giants and anyone else who wants to play along. <3 I know there are more, but I'll leave some space for others to tag. Go team, go!

It is beyond Ulfric’s comprehension how Dahlia is able to talk him into taking her out into the city proper, but she does so anyway. How and when has he ever been able to say no to her? It is as if she is the only one able completely disarm him, leaving him defenseless against the magic of her spell.

Wild winds whip past both of them with strong currents, but the sky is fair if a bit grey. For now, if the snows hold off, he will continue to allow her to lead him on this little stroll. Her arm in his own is far too warm for him to want to let go of just yet, and she deserves something nice after all that has been happening to her. It is barely enough for him to keep up with himself.

Life has been hitting her from every direction and buffeting her with storm after storm, and she has taken it all with more grace and poise than he could have ever expected from her. As Ulfric looks at her now, Dahlia’s head is held high, and there is a smile on her face despite the state she was in mere moments ago. There is a strength in her which insistently persists, resisting the violence of the harsh realities that try to tear her down. But at what cost?

A stray strand of hair falls into her face, blown there by the cold winter wind. Gently, he pushes it behind her ear; however, it has not escaped his notice that the dark shade of brown she wears has been spotted with more and more grey as of late. Would that he could take the weariness from her bones, the difficulties, and frustrations and bear them all for her in her stead. The outer vestiges of her youth are fading, wilting like petals in mid-summer, but despite this, her spirit blooms brighter than ever. And it is the most beautiful thing he has ever seen. He will guard it jealously, protecting it in any way he can so that at least she might continue on mostly unchanged. It is far too late for him. But if he can bask her in vibrant warmth—inch a bit closer to the brilliancy of her song—then perhaps he can burn just a little brighter as well. Divines know how,  but she has a way about her which makes him feel more alive despite the deadened, grey winters of Windhelm and the bleak melancholy of his past.

Dahlia smiles at him, and noticing that he is looking at her, squeezes his hand. “What?”

The corners of his lips slowly upturn, mimicking her expression. “Nothing.” 

Ulfric brushes her off and looks away, but she has always been stubborn and never one to let something lie—not when she can coax it out of him. “No, you’re clearly thinking about something. You had this look as if you had bitten into a particularly sweet snowberry. Were you thinking about the coronation, High King Ulfric?”

He shakes his head simply. “I was thinking about you.”

[acrowwithakeyboard]

Skyrim OCs

Decided to put my LDB OCs on here for posterities sake (and my friend's recommendation), since I have a bad habit of mass deleting screenshots and would like to remember them as accurately I can. PC player so there are mods.

Full name: Ieama Stormblood

Alias: Rhiatrice Adrati

Nicknames: Silver, Candle, Rhin

Race: Reachmen (Boldclaw and Bear-heart Clan, Mother was from the former, father the latter) Werewolf

Faith: Hircine

Background: Raised in the wilds of the Reach, took to hunting/crafting to make a living making jewellery (scrimshaw and bone hawk jewellery are her specialty). Uses alias to sound more Breton and heavy hoods and masks to avoid the general Reachmen biases amongst the local population. Eventually took to traveling outside the Reach and ran into various individuals who quickly became friends, then one night at the Inn in Helgen changed the course of her life forever. (Alternate perspective mod)

Fighting: Offensive destruction and restoration spells are her main magic schools when fighting, alteration and conjuration secondary, archery is a steady back-up when the situation (lack of magicka) calls for it.

Current followers: Remiel, Xelzaz, Gore (❤) , Auri, Redcap and Val Serano (have yet to get a good photo of them all)

Home: Camp near Dushnikh Yal in the Reach

Full Name: Vathyr

Alias: None

Nicknames: None yet

Race: Dunmer

Faith: The Reclaimations (Mephala specifically)

Background: An Ashlander who left home to explore the world, hoping the excursion would cure his wanderlust. He made a stop at Solstheim only to pick up a Dunmer mercenary before setting off to Skyrim. Has a less-than-trusting disposition towards people and tends to think the glass half empty, but once he considers someone a friend he will do whatever he can for them. Very skilled with poison and daggers and more than ready to hide if the guards come knocking.

Fighting: Dagger/sword combo with a LOT of poison, and some alteration and illusion magic goes a long way. Bows are used liberally with his poisons and when the enemy is too big to take down in close combat.

Current followers: Teldryn, Val Serano, Jenassa

Home: Renting Emberbrand Celler in Windhelm

Full Name: Ynhethune

Alias: None for now

Nicknames: Yenna, Yin

Race: Snow Elf

Faith: Auri-El

Background: Born some unknown time shortly after the Dwemer disappeared, Ynhethune sustained herself by hiding in the various cave systems dotting Skyrim's landscape and scavenging the wilds. Going above ground granted the opportunity to gather what is otherwise unavailable to the various Falmer settlements and allowed her a place as a traveling merchant amongst the hives. She is a common sight in Riften, but since she goes to various Falmer hives to trade she isn't often in the city too long. Though most leave her alone, the civil war has made travel difficult so she recently hired a mage to accompany her on her travels as she wants to set up trading relations further to the Reach and needs to make a stop at Helgen.

Fighting: Restoration against undead, conjuration for convenience, illusion for avoiding conflict, alteration for quick getaways, and destruction against everything else. A mage through and through.

Followers: Marcurio (more to be added)

Home: Blackreach, rents at the Bee and Barb regularly

Full Name: Drea Windseer

Alias: None

Nicknames: Didi, Dia

Race: Nord

Faith: Kyne

Background: Raised in Helgen, Drea is quiet and kind to her neighbours. She helps the local blacksmith by smelting and tanning raw materials she finds while on hunts to supply the inn. The guards warn that the recent patrols from the Thalmor have been... disappearing on the roads between Falkreath and Ivarstead with bandits a suspect as bodies that are found are stripped of belongings quite thoroughly. Drea has taken it upon herself to help the guard, letting them know when she finds recent attack sites. If the blacksmith notices her bringing back more smelted ore and tanned leather at night than usual after her hunts, he isn't going to complain. She gives him a good price and he hates the Thalmor as much as she does.

Fighting Style: The most reckless two handed swordswork you will see in this lifetime, heavy armour and heavy hitting, if she is caught unawares without her weapons her fists can substitute for a short time. When hunting game, her bow is an extension of her arm.

Followers: Xelzaz, Remiel (more to added)

Home: Was Helgen Modded home (used in tandum with alternate perspective) Currently nomadic due to Alduin

Edit: forgot a nickname Edit 2: editing again, story time: I had a mod for snow elves but had to get rid of it due to texture issues, Ynhethune was supposed to be an in-between of current Falmer and Merethic Era Snow Elves and I just figured out how to recreate that somewhat. Her background changed as well because of this. Edit 3: New character! Edit 4: Housing costs too high, changed a few homes

[ladytanithia]

Writing WIP Wednesday

For Chapter 18 of Best-Laid Plans. Just doing some good works around Windhelm and showing sweet Erik around the less-fortunate parts of town. Miranja's take on the Aventus Aretino situation. Could damn near be a chapter in itself.

Tagging @dirty-bosmer @guarmommy @gwilin-stay-winnin @mareenavee @skyrim-forever @sunny-d-anomaly @thana-topsy @thechaosdragoness @thequeenofthewinter

^0^0^0^0^0^

Miranja hugged Quintus tightly for a long moment. “Please let me know if there’s anything else I can do. I mean that. And if his condition changes. I would like to try to be present for his funeral when the time comes.”

Quintus nodded, following his guests to the door, and closing it behind them as they exited.

Miranja was somber as they took the way back through the cemetery toward the docks. Before Erik could speak to her, a passing guard commented about the Aretino boy. Miranja’s mood shifted visibly, and a determined look came into her eyes.

“I’ve been hearing about this kid since the day I came to Skyrim. It’s odd that after months, no one’s done anything to help this kid. We’re about to go right by his house. Maybe I’ll check in on him.” Although Erik had claimed to be open-minded, he obviously retained some of that Nord superstition. He tried to protest, but Miranja had made up her mind. “You don’t have to go in with me if you don’t want to,” she told him.

“I’m not letting you go into a potentially dangerous situation by yourself, Miss Miranja. I’ll do what you’re paying me for. I’m just a little nervous, that’s all.”

She had to pick the lock to get into the house, and as soon as she opened the door, their nostrils were assailed by the smell of decomposing flesh. But it wasn’t the boy; they could hear his frustrated chanting and cursing from where they stood. Miranja gagged and turned away toward the outside, sucking in a deep breath of fresh, cold air.

“Die, Grelod! Die!” Miranja nearly jumped out of her skin at the shout, and she took another deep breath and held it before hurrying up the stairs.

“I’m… so tired…” the boy whimpered to himself. “How long do I have to pray?”

It was quite chilly in the house, and Miranja dared not wonder how bad it would smell if it had been warm. Surely the jarl’s people would have tended to the boy’s mother’s body after she died, right? What was this nauseating smell?

“Sweet mother, sweet mother, send your child unto me, for the sins of the unworthy must be baptized in blood and fear.” The bloodchilling prayer was accompanied by repeated thunking sounds, and when the pair finally reached the room where Aventus was performing his ritual, Miranja was stunned. Here was the source of the rotting smell: decaying human body parts. It was warmer in this room because of the circle of candles, and the scent of the hot wax did nothing to detract from the stench. The thunk was the sound of Aventus wearily stabbing the disintegrating flesh, the tip of his blade catching slightly in the floorboards with each blow. Aventus was tearfully complaining to himself now about how tired he was, asking why the Night Mother wasn’t answering him.

Miranja nearly wept at the thought of some stranger doing this ritual with the intention of having her life snuffed. To see this child performing the ritual… what sort of horror must he have endured at that orphanage? Where and how did he get the body parts? This was serious, gruesome business.

“By the Nine…” Miranja murmured in horror. Behind her, she could hear Erik vomiting into – well, hopefully into something. When she tried to take another breath, the smell was so bad that she gagged again, but the boy was on his feet as soon as he heard her voice, jumping for joy as if he hadn’t just been on the verge of collapse a moment ago.

“Are you okay?” Miranja choked out, trying to take shallow breaths.

“You came! An assassin from the Dark Brotherhood! I did the Black Sacrament with the body and the… the things. I prayed and prayed, and the Night Mother finally answered me!”

“Oh, no, no, no, I’m not who you think I am, young man.”

“Of course you are! I prayed, and you came, and now you’ll accept my contract.”

Aventus told her about his mother’s illness and death, and how he was sent to the orphanage in Riften, and how cruel Grelod had been. Miranja agreed that someone who could be so inhumane to children who had already lost their parents and had no one to love and care for them deserved a terrible punishment, but she was not an assassin and wasn’t sure that she could kill someone who wasn’t actively threatening her life. But Aventus wouldn’t take no for an answer, so she agreed.

“Please hurry,” he begged. “It’s lonely here, and even though I hated Grelod, I really miss my friends there.”

Before she left, she had Erik open some windows and helped Aventus fill a burlap produce bag with the grisly items from his ritual. She found Aventus’s mother’s cleaning supplies and cleaned up the blood stains from the floor. Reminding the boy to close the windows again in half an hour or so, she took the bag with her and put it in a large trash receptacle down at the docks, where it and all the other trash would be taken by ship to be dumped far out in the Sea of Ghosts. Erik took the whole bucket, keeping it upright even when he added it to the trash bin, knowing the cold weather would freeze it solid. They were both relieved to have that experience behind them.

[becausegoodheroesdeservekidneys]

Since you do play skyrim, I do have to ask you now who your favourite companion/extra carrying space person is, what guild you like the best, your preferred home, and the funniest glitch you’ve come across.

I’m sorry, I’m contractually obliged as someone who made an eldrich pact in order to find the non porn or dragon age crossover Skyrim fics.

Hmm okay

1. Vilkas, probably, because he looks like my husband and has a sexy voice and is a hot werewolf. However, I don't always use followers, because I like having full control of my sneaking and controlling them is a faff.

My husband is also playing atm, though, and his answer is Brelyna Maryon (is that her name?) She's the absolutely useless wizard in Winterhold - he turned up and she asked him to help with some spells and he said yes, and then her spells were useless. Terrible. The effect of one? His vision went green for a bit. He was immediately charmed, and took her with him. Worst mage in the game. Not even a good idea for him to take her, because they're both dark elf mages, too - but Steff was like "This woman can't do a single thing and I am delighted. She's coming with me."

2. Guild is difficult. I do like the Thieves Guild, but you're absolutely entrenched in the pocket of Maven Black-Briar, and I passionately and wholeheartedly loathe her. I wish I could just throw her corpse into Riften canal.

So maybe Companions. I think they're the only ones I don't have major objections to, plus they're hot werewolves. Always a bonus.

3. Preferred home is Breezehome for my daughter, because one of the first things I do in every single playthrough is adopt Sofie. It goes:

Escape Helgen

Go to Riverwood, get that claw back (get the Dragonstone and loads of sellable shit at the same time)

Go to Whiterun and talk to the Jarl

Kill the dragon

Become Thane and buy Breezehome

Kit out Breezehome with a child's bedroom

IMMEDIATELY run to Windhelm

Burst in through the city gates

Punch anyone in the way

Find Sofie and buy all of her flowers to make her smile

Listen to her devastating tale of woe

Ask her if she wants me to adopt her

Cry when she calls me Mama

Send her to Breezehome because Whiterun is the safest place in all of Skyrim for a child when considering dragons, civil wars, and Assorted Skyrim Assholes

Decide what the hell I'm now going to do with the game

I really like building houses too, though, which is how I now have Big Naked Dad in my garden. Amazingly, it's happened in Windstad Manor rather than Lakeview; I once tried to move Sofie into the latter but NEVER AGAIN

Uh, special shout outs to the prettiest homes, though, Vlindrel Hall is fucking gorgeous (like fuck will I ever let Sofie near Markarth tho) and the one in Solitude, love that one.

4. One of the guards in Riften in my current game keeps sitting on an invisible chair and eating in the middle of the street, outside the pub. Every time I see him he looks like he's doing some squats and having a picnic. Very charming.

[molliehaswords]

WIP Wheneversday

I've been tagged by @totally-not-deacon for WIP Wednesday a couple times and never really had anything to share when they tagged me, but right now I've got a bit of a semi-productive high happening so I want to share part of the first chapter of my Skyrim fic! It's still definitely a WIP because I'm a lame-o who actually loves the vanilla tutorial, so I'm working on translating Helgen from the game to an engaging written narrative. I'll tag @ursulanoodles, @the-mad-dame, @electricshoebox, @rosered282, and @circtheeunbroken because you are writer mutuals who know Skyrim and/or are my enablers. 😆 (Actual WIP below the cut)

Evening, Loredas, 16th of Last Seed, 4E201, Darkwater Crossing

Visiting Darkwater Crossing is always bittersweet. It’s here I take stock of my supplies and begin the trip back home to Whiterun. As much as I love the freedom of traveling the province alone, with no greater goal than Mother’s supplies lists, seeing the leaves of the Rift turn golden always makes me ache for home.

Mother generally expects me to return around the start of Hearthfire, so that she can get her stocks replenished for the city guards before winter frosts make things difficult. Plus, very occasionally, I am able to coax her out of the shop for an evening for harvest festivities. Last year’s festival was particularly memorable for us both… That said, with the rising tensions coming from Windhelm and Solitude, I wouldn’t be too surprised if the harvest festival is canceled this year.

But it makes sense. It was still relatively peaceful when I left Whiterun during Second Seed, but at that time, Ulfric had not yet visited High King Torygg in the Blue Palace.

In any case, I’m sure it will all be fine. Mother has made herself valuable to Whiterun and I don’t see anything changing that. Rulers may change, but people will always need their apothecaries and alchemists.

~*~

“Hey, you. You're finally awake.”

Lucia groaned, her head throbbing in pain with each bump of the wagon.

The Nord sitting across from her continued, “You were trying to cross the border, right? Walked right into that Imperial ambush, same as us, and that thief over there."

“Cross the border? What? No? I was heading back home to Whiterun after spending the summer foraging…” Suddenly panicking, Lucia looked around the cart. “Ysmir’s beard! Where are my bags?!”

The other man across from her spat onto the floor of the wagon, “Damn you Stormcloaks. Skyrim was fine until you came along. Empire was nice and lazy. If they hadn't been looking for you, I could've stolen that horse and been halfway to Hammerfell. You there... You and me, we shouldn't be here. It's these Stormcloaks the Empire wants."

Lucia looked between the two men on the other side of the wagon as the blond man, wearing what she recognized as Stormcloak gear, said, “We're all brothers and sisters in binds now, thief."

Fuck. This isn’t good. Mother is going to be so upset. Months of gathering ingredients wasted and she’ll have no stock for the winter. Lucia wanted to chew on a fingernail, but the bindings on her wrists made it awkward, so she settled for the inside of her lip.

The legionnaire driving their wagon shouted at them, "Shut up back there!" The blond Stormcloak rolled his eyes as the horse thief next to him winced.

[spooky-donut-ghost-house]

*during Blood on Ice*

Windhelm guard: "This is a crime scene!"

LDB, taking three sweet rolls out of Hjerim: "Oh, is the murder weapon? GET OFF MY DICK!"

[mareenavee]

An Illusion of Competence

Hehehe. SURPRISE! Happy early birthday, @kookaburra1701! Chaos weekend here, and I channeled that energy into a chaos thief Orc, Luzrah gro-Shar. She's amazing, and I love her. Thank you for the brainwyrm! She didn't even have a tag, you know lol that's how much of a shell she was. We love a good shell NPC! I can't wait to see what you do with her in your fic universe!!!!!!! 🤩

without further ado:

An Illusion of Competence

Shit. No. This couldn’t be right! How could they possibly have found her already? Who would even think to go looking for her in this hellhole slum of the city, anyway? Damn it, but if she didn’t get out of this, Vex was going to be so pissed off at her for royally screwing up this job over almost nothing—you know, just like the last one. She couldn’t help herself—the opportunity was right there, and who cared if pickpocketing wasn’t supposed to be the task at hand? The Guild needed the gold desperately, didn’t it? Ugh. Distractions aplenty, unfortunately.

Luzrah gro-Shar snuck around the corner of the Grey Quarter, pulling the hood of her cloak up to cover her very obvious flame-red hair, trying and failing to blend in with a passing crowd of Dunmer. No matter where she went, she didn’t quite fit in, so this was nothing new. She was taller and stronger than most Nords, for one, and green, for another—which caused all kinds of people to stare at her in open disgust. That, and she was a bard, more or less. Or—she could be, given practice. She carried a lute around and everything. It wasn’t what Orcs were known for, generally speaking—she’d only ever met one other who also happened to be a bard, and he was…yeah, he was not a good singer, to put it bluntly. She could at least carry a tune in a bucket, but the bucket was, technically, rusty and full of holes—you can take that as you will. It certainly said a lot more about her thin cover story the closer anyone looked, but now was not the time for worrying over that—it had served its purpose perfectly fine. That is, until now.

She sighed as the sound of the guards clattering along in their Stormcloak blues echoed off of the ancient stone walls. Windhelm, as unforgiving and cold as ever, was nothing but a patch of clear ice over here in the Grey Quarter. Figures. Luzrah wasn’t any stranger to the weather this far north, but she was not dressed for this kind of sport. She struggled to keep her balance as she slid down a slight incline in boots made more for trudging through mud in the Strongholds rather than through all this abysmal weather. Malacath’s toenails, but she wished these imbecile guards would give up already! Her legs ached as she turned a corner and then another, ending up in the market outside of the Alchemist’s shop, mind racing and looking for an escape route. Did they need a bard? It was possible. If she slowed down and acted natural, maybe it would—no. Nope, it wasn’t—she’d tried that in Candlehearth, where it made sense at least, and look where it got her. You’d think she’d learn to work around the misfortune by now, but of course not, otherwise she wouldn’t be in this mess. She could, at least, attempt to lose them. As far as she’d known, they hadn’t seen her face yet.-> Read the rest on AO3!

[wellthebardsdead]

Marigold: *arrived in skyrim from windhelm a few days prior, now making his way through the rift looking for a dwemer ruin related to his magic studies* hm? *looks up seeing a group of thalmor justiciars and soldiers headed in his direction* odd… I thought this was stormcloak territory… hm. *keeps walking towards them preparing to step aside for them to pass*

Head Justiciar: Wait- *stops the group as the other high elf approaches, eyes locking with the travelling mer* I know you-

Marigold: I’m certain you’d like to but you dont~ *keeps walking*

Head justiciar: No I definitely know you. You match the description of a live capture and retrieve perfectly. Guards arrest him.

Marigold: oh dear here we go- *blasts one of the guards with a shard of ice right through his skull while zapping another with lightning frying him alive in his armour*

Head Justiciar: *dodges out of the way using another guard as a meat shield* Well don’t just stand there you idiots! Subdue him!

Not Taliesin: *watching as the other justiciars attempt to grab at the high elf only to get zapped* this better not ruin my hair- *charges forward tackling Marigold to the ground, both of them tumbling down a hill with absolutely not Taliesin landing on top, pinning the pretty elf beneath him* Well then, that’s enough of that. *grabs both his wrists tying them together*

Marigold: *giving up easily, not seeing any point to fighting for his life* oh you’re a cute one~

Still not Taliesin: *starts blushing* s-stop that you. You’re under arrest now act like it. *pulls him up to his feet*

Marigold: Gladly- COME SEE THE VIOLENCE INHERENT IN THE SYSTEM! HELP HELP IM BEING REPRESSED!

Nope not tally boi: *trying to keep a straight face* I take it back you can shut up. *leads him back up the hill*

Marigold: You still haven’t told me why I’m being arrested though so this is officially a kidnapping- Ohh why did you pick me? Do you think I’m cute~?

Absolutely not taliwack: *pulls his hood down over his face a little more* by the eight stooooop-

Marigold: Aw why? Can’t I have fun while I’m being held against my will by such a handsome Mer?

Not Talimctaltal: Stop talking you’re making this weird. Now be quiet before I make you.

Marigold: *pouts* you’re a mean and pretty one. Lucky for you I like that~

Can’t Possibly be trash can tally: *trying to remain professional* I said don’t make this weird- *grabs marigold by his hair gagging him with a rag*

Marigold: mmmmphh~

Might be trash can tally: WHAT DID I JUST SAY?!

Head Justiciar: *looks down the hill* what’s taking so long?

No it can’t possibly be Taliesin: *bright red* I’ve subdued him! Somebody please take him from me!!!

*a few days later*

I can’t believe it’s not Taliesin: *pulling Marigold along by the rope tied to his wrists* Gods why are you so slow?

Marigold: *sore from travelling, the surgery from his childhood making his body hurt all over, looking like he’s ready to pass out* mhmmmmphh… *knees suddenly buckling taking him to the ground*

Head justiciar: *looks back and sighs* We’ll stop for a break. I don’t know what the grand overlord wants with this one but if we turn up with him dead we’ll all be dead. Prop him up by a tree and give him some water. And keep. An eye on him. I mean it. You’re on your last chance now as we speak. *huffs and walks off*

Spreadable right out of the fridge not Taliesin: *sighs and lifts marigold up placing him under a tree, gently removing the gag* are you alright?

Marigold: *too sore to think of a witty remark* mm… *just nods*

Taliesin: you sure don’t look like it- *turns his back to get a water skin from his pack*

Marigold: *looks at him then over towards the tree line knowing once in there he can sneak away undetected* … *casts invisibility on himself and quietly gets up ignoring the pain in his body as it screams in protest from the movement* … *looks to see Taliesin still rummaging through his stuff before quietly tip toeing over to the tree line and disappearing into the forest*

It was Taliesin all along: Ah there it is. *turns around holding the water skin only to see the other high elf long gone* …Shit.

*a few hours later*

Marigold: *staggers out of the tree line onto a path not fair from dark water crossing* gods, now to get my hands free-

*creeeeeek-SNAP!*

Marigold: *spins around in time to catch a flash of blue fur, and an arrow flying right for him* SHI- *falls to the ground unconscious upon impact*

———

Marigold: *groans waking up feeling his body being jostled by movement and the rumbling of wheels on cobblestone* huh… *sits upright wincing in pain* where?…

Ralof: hey you, you’re finally awake.